The impression of the whole scene of the captured ground (July 1916)—or, at least, that part of it which I have seen—remaining in my mind is an undulating plateau extending as far as the eye can see. In more peaceful times it was perhaps arable land. Now it is arid and dead: nothing grows there, not a blade of grass; even the trees of such woods as the Bois de Mametz do not boast of a green leaf—they are splintered and torn down by shells. Those that still stand are withered and brown, the results of continual high explosive and gas shells. It reminds you of nothing so much as land which is suffering from the effects of very severe volcanic eruption, for it is everywhere pitted with craters and shell holes of all sizes and depths. On this plateau are quantities of transport wagons, limbers, and heavy draft horses, their bay coats shimmering in the sun; these are the wagon lines of the many artillery batteries that are operating in the sector. As you proceed along the road, which runs through it, you will note that it crosses more than one line of former trenches which have been wrested from the enemy at great cost. At the point of the road-crossing they have been filled in. Almost all along the road are well-constructed old German dug-outs, many of them spacious, dug a considerable depth into the bank on the side of the road and surrounded by layers of sand-bags. They must have taken considerable time and labour to construct, many of them being a series of cellars, connected by passages, at least fifteen or twenty feet deep. If you care to climb down into them, frequently you will come upon sights which are, to say the least, gruesome. There is a cold, clammy feeling in the air in some of these dugouts; they reek of death. Some have been luxuriously fitted up, walls plastered and papered; traces of electric wiring and lamp fittings and stolen French furniture and beds are still visible. I have before me a scrap of torn and blood-stained paper, part of a leaf from a Field Message Book. On it is written the following, which it is just possible to decipher. It was picked up in a dug-out in the old British line, north of the Somme, over which British troops have advanced: ... high state of efficiency. An important section of these operations has been entrusted to this battalion, and the Commanding Officer feels sure that every one belonging to it will rise to the occasion and "do his bit" for the regiment and his country. A man, no matter what his position, who sits down or otherwise idles when he ought to be working, is failing both one and the other.